part0019

Ivory had left for the evening when I arrived back with Greg, gasping and panting for air. I left him to clean himself off in the bathroom while I made coffee, or something stronger. He was making no sense, frankly, nothing was making sense.

I gently nipped my arm. “Nope, it’s all real,” I said, boiling water on the kitchen hob. I needed to add to my list, buy a kettle , something I could plug in.

Greg sat in the living room, wrapped in a blanket.

“What happened to you?” I asked, closing the curtains.

He looked at his hands, twisting his fingers together and pulling at the fabric wristband. “Strange things have been happening around Witchwood,” he said.

“I’ve been told.”

“It’s not safe.”

I sat beside him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I hope you’re not worried about me,” I said.

“Well—I—I—”

“Think about it,” I said, “let me get the coffees.”

He shook his head. “Tea for me.”

He was right. I couldn’t be giving him something to keep his nerves on edge. It would only make him worse, and I couldn’t be responsible for that. He wasn’t in the right state of mind for me to be feeding him nervousness. I made him a special tea, something my mother would give me when I was frustrated with magic. It allowed me to mellow and ease into practice. Perhaps it would make Greg able to string a sentence together without his jaw gnashing or his fingers digging into his legs—or worse, my sofa.

Perhaps it had something to do with what Maureen was seeing, I pondered. Seeing ghosts always had a weird effect on people. The first time I saw a ghost, I didn’t sleep for an entire week, but that was also partly to do with a morbid fascination and plenty of research.

Greg’s body continued to shiver, even with the blanket. Another sign, the shivers. I placed his cup of tea on the table.

“Put your feet up,” I said, tapping my foot against the ottoman. “I don’t want you losing your mind on me.” I took the seat beside him with my coffee nestled in my hands.

“I have no idea what’s going on anymore,” he said, reaching forward for the cup of tea. “I—I—I—” a hard thud of a gulp came, sucking back the tea.

“What did you see?” I asked.

“It’s not—” he sighed.

“Did you see a ghost?” I asked openly, trying to pull his gaze back to me.

“No, no,” he scoffed. “I don’t think the people around here are comfortable with having you around.”

He wiggled his fingers in the air at me. “You know, magic.”

“It wasn’t me.”

It wasn’t a crime for people to know, or for people to talk about it. But it was hardly a reason for Greg to be a wreck. I rubbed his shoulder. “But what’s got you all pent up?”

“I think there’s some real evil on the street,” he said.

I’d hoped the so far ominous darkness looming over Crescent Road wouldn’t travel, but if it had got Greg stirred up the wrong way, I couldn’t be too sure what to think. “And you said they’re watching me?”

“The neighbours.”

He nodded, pushing the cup to his mouth and pouring all the tea down in one.

“Well,” I said, standing. “I don’t know what they’re looking for. I’m retired.” Although I guess that was one weird thing about me, that and being a witch. I’m sure there was more to their suspicion. Perhaps they’d seen Ivory at night.

“Because you’re a witch,” he said.

I twitched the curtains, looking through the small space. The fire engine was still there, water gushing from a hose over the house. People stood almost outside my garden fence, watching the firemen, although the wearing paranoia from Greg told me they were also spying on me.

“I think you should stay here tonight,” I said.

“Really?” he asked with a large smile.

“Yes, I do have a spare bedroom, but there’s so much clutter in there right now. You can stay on the sofa, if that’s okay.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling the blanket over his arms tighter. “You know who the ringleader is?”

Considering I had little idea about any group at all. “No.”

“She’s called Janet,” he said. “She’s a bit snooty, she’s the town’s biggest gossip.” He huffed. “You tell her one tiny thing and all of a sudden, it’s a huge palaver.”

I had no idea who anyone was. My stomach grumbled, even though I’d just fed it coffee. “Would you like some pasta carbonara?” I asked. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

He shook his head. “I think I just need to sleep.”

That was the best idea he’d had all evening. I left him in the living room on the sofa while I cooked my dinner and began writing a letter to the Witches Council, pleading my case as to why I would be a great match to teach the next generation of investigators. It was the least I could do, given my abundance of time.